Finding Anna
by Laura Schiller
Summary: 2012 film, with shades of the book. After Anna's death, Karenin visits Vronsky to take charge of her namesake daughter.


Finding Anna

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Anna Karenina

Copyright: Leo Tolstoy's estate/Joe Wright

The first thing Alexey Karenin noticed about the room was its smell: it reeked of vodka, old food and unwashed clothes. The bundle under the blankets, which had once been a dashing young officer noted for his good looks, barely stirred as Karenin walked in. A year ago, he might have triumphed over this, might have felt haughtily superior to this boy whose careless passion had ruined so many lives. In this moment, however, he felt nothing but empathy; it was the nightmare of Anna's lying-in all over again, that moment when his wife's lover had wept on his shoulder and he had found it perfectly natural to offer comfort.

"Alexey Kirillovitch," he said, inclining his head, making an effort to sound as if they had simply met in a street or office. "Good morning."

"Minister." A tousled blond head rose from under the bedclothes; bloodshot blue eyes squinted at him in the light from the blinds. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Clearly."

"Didn't the housekeeper tell you I was out?"

"You have not answered my letters." Karenin folded his arms behind his back, uncomfortable in the spotlight of the younger man's glare. "It is important that we speak."

Vronsky sat up, his white nightshirt showing all its wrinkles and stains.

"What is it you want?" he snapped. "Have you come to lecture me for my sins? Triumph over my misfortune? Go on, old man, tell me what you're thinking. Tell me I was the one to blame for her death. Tell me I killed her. You know it's true!"

Karenin took a few steps back. The soldier's words struck him with an almost physical force, an echo of his own wild, contrary thoughts in these arctic winter nights since the funeral. If only he had dared to open his heart to Anna, to let her know that her affair with Vronsky had hurt so much more than his reputation … If only he had never let her leave … If only he had granted her a divorce when she asked for it … But if he had to live it all again, would he really have chosen differently?

"No," he assured Vronsky. "No … Anna Arkadyevna acted according to her own will, as she has always done."

At the sound of her name, Vronsky's expression softened from anger into grief.

"I have come," Karenin added, understanding the futility of mincing words, "To take the child."

He was prepared for tears, curses, protests. He had arranged his arguments as neatly inside his mind as he had ever done for a governmental debate. He was ready to speak of the legal right he had to the custody of his late wife's child, Vronsky's obvious inability to care for her, the disadvantages she would cause to the young officer's career, the protection which the little girl would receive by belonging to a respectable, wealthy household. He was not prepared, however, for what Vronsky actually said.

"Is that all?" He laughed bitterly and waved his hand. "Take her away and be welcome!"

"I – I beg your pardon?"

Karenin was not an ideal father himself by any means, but this did surprise him.

"I can't bear to look at her," Vronsky confessed, staring down at the blankets. "To see her mother's eyes in that tiny face, accusing me … How can I love a child who should never have been born?"

He looked up, tears in his eyes, and for the first time, Karenin saw what Anna must have seen: sincerity, clear as diamonds, completely shocking in a world as false and conventional as theirs. Alexey Vronsky was heartbroken, and he did not care who saw it, including his enemies. There was a courage in that which Karenin had never learned.

"Take her," he repeated. "Take my daughter. You always were a better man than I am. I know you'll be a better father too."

"Thank you," the older man replied. "I shall do my best."

One year ago, they had made peace with each other at the request of the woman they both loved. This time, as they silently shook hands, Karenin remembered: her dark hair scattered across the pillow, her thin white face, that sudden, radiant smile as she whispered, _Thank God!_

/

The nursery stood in sharp contrast to the master bedroom: it was bright, clean, and as tidy as it could be with a toddler living there. The child and its nurse were on the floor, playing with some colored wooden blocks. As soon as the young woman caught sight of the formidable stranger, she scrambled to her feet, adjusted her white kerchief and bobbed a curtsey. Little Anna hid behind her skirts, surveying the newcomer with wide, inquisitive brown eyes. Karenin saw at once what Vronsky had meant, and his sympathy and respect rose by several degrees. He paused in the doorway.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the nurse. Her gaze flickered up and down, as if searching for clues to his intentions from his gray coat and gold-framed spectacles, and finding none.

"My name is Karenin."

Her eyebrows shot up. She glancd at Anna, then back at him, then blushed. Evidently she knew the child's family name was Karenina and was coming to her own conclusions. Annoyingly, he found himself blushing as well, and called up all the formality at his disposal to compensate.

"I have just spoken to your master, and he has permitted me to take the child into my care. You may accompany her if you wish, and live in my employ; if not, you may give warning to the Countess," since Vronsky's formidable mother, who had been the first to welcome Karenin to the house, appeared to be the real power in the household.

"If you please, Master Karenin," said the girl, running her hand over Anna's feathery dark hair, "I'd rather stay with her. Give me half an hour to pack, and we'll come with you."

"Very well."

She beamed, her face betraying all the relief at escaping this house of mourning which she was too polite to express in words. She knelt down to Anna's eye level, still smiling, her voice higher by at least an octave as she gently pushed the child forward.

"You see, little lady? See this gentleman? He's your Papa, come to take you home! Go and meet your Papa, sweetheart, go on. Show him how nicely you can walk."

Anna tottered forward, her lower lip jutting out with concentration, almost tripping on the hem of her white dress. Karenin crouched down and held out his arms, a stiff, awkward motion he had not had to make in years. When Seryozha had been this age, they had taught him to walk just like this, going back and forth between his mother and father. Nine years and a lifetime ago.

The child lost her balance and fell forward, crying out in fear. Karenin caught her tiny shoulders just in time.

She did not pull away, only looked up at him, with a puzzled frown that gradually gave way to a smile. She was not shy, then, unlike Seryozha. Perhaps she had her mother's spirit, as well as her mother's eyes.

_But you shall never share your mother's fate,_ he silently promised her,_. as long as there is breath in my body and life in my soul to prevent you._

"Anna Alexeyevna Karenina," he said, taken aback by the sound of his own tears. "I am very … _very_ … glad to finally meet you."


End file.
